


I'm Not Hungry

by mee4ever



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anorexia, Body Image, Conversations, Eating Disorders, Food Issues, M/M, One Shot, POV Derek, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek, Sick Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: "Aren't you starving?"Derek realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that they were the wrong ones. Everyone around the living room table quieted down and turned their heads to him, including Stiles. "I'm eating?" he responded.It was a slanted answer to a straightforward question, and nobody save Derek seemed to notice that this was Stiles' first slice and everybody else's fifth.Or the one where Derek clumpsily notices and does his best to address it proparly.





	I'm Not Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously trigger warning for ED's, anorexia in particular. Thought of the MC is somewhat tacktless at times. Don't read if uncertain. 
> 
> No beta, so no flaming tha story.

"Aren't you starving?" 

Derek realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that they were the wrong ones. Everyone around the living room table quieted down and turned their heads to him, including Stiles on the couch who Derek looked at. Despite the loft's vast space, it felt like it was pressing in on him with all their attention on him. Then Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, and Kira turned to Stiles, leaving Jackson and Liam to turn back to their plates. With his half-eaten pizza-slice in hand, eyebrow raised, and heartbeat ticking with otherwise hidden anxiety, Stiles' gaze never wavered from Derek's.

"I'm eating?" he responded. It was a slanted answer to a straightforward question, and nobody save Derek seemed to notice. Stiles cocked his head, almost like he usually dared Derek to say something. Derek frowned. 

"No, I mean—" But it was noticeable only to Derek that this was Stiles' first slice and everybody else's fifth. Conversation reared back up. Stiles laughed at Scott's expanse. Derek ate his pizza. Maybe he was just babying. 

~~

But he wasn't. They came back to the loft a few days later, him, Isaac and Stiles, soaked to their cores after a supernatural battle out in the rain. Adrenaline was leaving their blood streams and quiet exhaustion kicked in their veins. Isaac disappeared up to his room immediately, hogging the upstairs bathroom for himself. That left Stiles down with Derek. Stiles, who was stripping himself of drenched garments in the middle of the room, looked more tired than Derek had seen him before, and he always looked tired in the past couple years. The bags under his eyes were as hollow as his cheeks, he was pale and red in one go. There was something very deliberate in every move he made, like he put too much force behind it and not enough strength came out of it. "I call first shower," he said and nothing in his voice suggested more than so. 

Derek weren't uncomfortable getting undressed or changed in front of someone, but it was different when that person was doing the same and especially so when that person was Stiles. "Go right ahead." He indicated vaguely towards the bathroom and kept his clothes on despite feeling like he was pushing up an extra skin made of lead. 

Stiles zipped up his hoodie and threw it off with a wet sound and Derek, who was rudely watching him undress, noticed. He noticed that what was underneath was a different sight than it had been. The accidental wet-t-shirt competition they had entered showed it clearly. The pack had joked about Stiles being "skin and bones" for years, but he'd had a slim look, even muscles. He'd been strong. Heavy on the past-tense. Derek almost said something about it. "You look skinny" or "have you stopped eating completely?" Neither or a variant was going to be good. Instead, he waved a hand for Stiles to hurry up and said, "I'll whip something up after I've changed."

"No need," Stiles deflected effortlessly, dripping as he made show of going to the bathroom. "I'm not hungry." 

Derek's stomach knotted. He'd heard that a few times, or a variant of "I'll eat when I get home" or "I already ate." Now, it felt obvious. He muttered, "Well, _ I _am."

Stiles nodded. He disappeared into the bathroom. Derek cursed himself out over the counter while whisking up batter for pancakes. He should've noticed before. How long had it been going on? Weeks? Months? It was impossible to tell, but had been a while, must've been. Fuck.

There was a drip and he looked down. He needed to change clothes.

~~

Stiles reentered, still dripping wet but only because his hair had grown longer since high school and because he was just wrapped in a towel around his hip. Without the further layering, his bodily differences stood out even further, as did his ribs. He didn't even care to ask to borrow clothes, just went over to Derek's drawers and pulled things out. Derek flipped a pancake. 

"Whipped cream or just jam?" Usually, Stiles wanted both.

In a too large hoodie and sweatpants, Derek barely saw the difference. Just in his face. Stiles, hands hidden in the hoodie-pockets, shook his head. "Seriously, dude, I'm so jacked up, I can't eat." 

That was better. Easier to work with. Although, Derek flipped another couple pancakes before he managed to get the words out. Easier did not mean easy. "Do you want me to show you some breathing exercises?" 

"What?" 

Derek had definitely mumbled, so he asked again. Stiles blinked at him. Sternly, Derek held his gaze. "You told me I needed therapy," he said, almost an accusation. 

Stiles snorted. "I didn't think you'd actually listen. I didn't think werewolves believed in mental health. It's just 'think about Alpha, Beta, Omega and hold onto your anchor' mumbo-jumbo with you."

Derek felt his cheeks burn. "It's harder when you don't have an anchor." 

Stiles stopped and frowned. "What do you mean you _ don't have an anchor _?"

"Seen me get mad lately?" Derek asked while pouring more batter into the sizzling pain. "Have a rage fit? Throw something?" 

"No, but—"

"So, no anchor." Derek glanced at him. Stiles studied him back from his position halfway to the door. The conversation pulled a direction he had not mentally prepared for, but it kept Stiles here and maybe that meant they could talk about him too. He kept flipping pancakes. "It's fine, I don't need one right now."

Stiles nodded, but his voice sounded unbelievable when he said, "Because you have a therapist." 

Derek shrugged. It was going okay with her, the biggest issue was that she wasn't supernatural. "So? Breathing?"

Stiles shook his head, grinning. "I know how to breathe, thanks." 

Because he had had a therapist too. 

But he didn't now. 

The door clicked shut behind him. Derek ate his pancakes silently while Isaac tried to lighten the mood. They had both whipped cream and jam. 

~~

"Where's the fire?" Stiles asked, power walking down the stairs slightly out of breath. "Who's kidnapped? What's… happening?" The last bit was said suspiciously, with his eyes narrowed.

Derek still sat on the couch with his phone in hand, still considering what to say, still questioning if it was his place at all. He wore sweats and a washed out t-shirt and no shoes. Stiles adjusted his striped hoodie, pulling at the strings, and eyed Derek's socked feet with even more suspicion.

Derek smiled. It felt weird. "No fire. No kidnapping." 

Stiles came to a stop beside the couch. Derek didn't get up. With a sighing bang, Stiles let his messenger bag punch the floor and he sighed. "So, you just made sure I'm not sleeping tonight for nothing, well thanks for that." But he threw himself down on the couch instead of leaving so at least Derek had done something right.

"Isaac's out." 

"Me too, if you know what I mean." Stiles finger-gunned. Derek were probably in love with him because the gesture didn't make him want to throw up. It was a conversation for another day, probably. Stiles threw a nod at the tv. "What are we watching then?" 

"Property Ladder."

Stiles laughed and snuggled down. "You are an enigma, you know that, Derek Hale?" 

The enigma was solved, Derek thought. "Whatever, just watch some stupid shows with me."

And he did.

~~

Half a dozen episodes later and too many of them filled with Stiles mimicking a british accent, Derek thought it time for a snack break. He got up, waved for Stiles to come with him but didn't try to force anything on him this time. They sat down opposite each other on the kitchen counter—Derek with a cutting board and veggies—and Stiles kept pestering on about Derek being a “good sir” and enough was enough. 

“Do you ever stop talking?” 

Stiles cocked his head and grinned. “Only when I eat dick.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and realized he walked into that one and had to suit himself. He was also pretty sure Stiles had never sucked dick in his life so it meant he’d never shut up. “Cook with me?” he asked in lieu of answer and he held up a finger to stop Stiles from twisting that into something it most definitely wasn’t. With slight hesitation, Stiles got up and fetched himself a cutting board and a knife. He stole carrots from Derek and began quickly chopping them into thin slices. 

Glancing at him, Derek asked, "When did you last cook a meal?" 

A shrug. "Dunno."

“Been a while, then?” 

Another shrug. “Don’t have much time these days. Who knew saving the world would be so time-consuming?” 

Derek nodded along. “But there’s not too much anymore, is there?" 

Stiles shrugged a third time and Derek didn’t ask anything else. “I see what you’re doing,” Stiles said instead, his entire focus on the carrots. “I know you’ve been watching me.” 

Derek felt his ear flush. “It’s not what you think.” 

“Really?” Stiles looked up and raised a brow. “So it’s not about food?” 

Derek faltered. “Oh. Yeah, no, it is.” 

Stiles returned to his chopping, slowing down to get the exact same width, curling his fingers not to cut them off. “I like food,” he said. “You know it, everyone knows it. But I…” He trailed off, waving the knife around. When he began again, his voice had gotten an off-hand quality, like he was talking about the weather. “We were constantly battling it out, all through high school. Everything was messed up and I had constant ‘when will the next thing hit’-anxiety. So I forgot. Or couldn't. Or didn't want to.” Every cut seemed to draw sharper sounds, his voice slicing alongside it. “I skipped, once. Then once again here, once again there, and then twice, thrice. Breakfast cut out early. Don’t get me wrong, I eat. Of course. But, yeah. I've just… I'm always too anxious to even think about eating because Scott could lie dead in a ditch _ right now_, you know?"

Derek put his knife down. "Stiles."

"And I don't remember the last time I had anything and it didn't taste like ash." His knife clattered to the table when he pushed it away. He looked up and held Derek's gaze. "I'm not _ stupid _, Derek."

"I know. I'm not stupid, either."

"It's just… not the same thing anymore. I don't—" He licked his lower lip and it quivered. "I don't _ want _ it."

"You need it."

"Yeah, but that's not…"

Derek helped him finish, hating that he could put it together. "...enough."

Stiles shook his head, looking away. 

"Listen." He put his hand on top of Stiles' and that was all it took to get his undivided attention, a tick of heart beat, warm hand against cold. Derek's heart roared. His voice was carefully levelled. "I suck." 

Stiles sat up straighter. "Derek—" 

"No, listen." 

Stiles slumped a little and looked down at their hands. He slowly turned his hand over, experimentally, so that they instead were sort of holding hands, palm against palm, fingertips against fingertips. Derek let him.

"I suck. I do not deserve love or somewhere to live or happiness or responsibility or stability. Nothing I do will ever matter. That is what I told myself, day in and day out for years after my family died." 

"It's different."

"Of course. And no, not at all." 

"I don't…" He paused, looked up and his expression softened. "I don't hate myself." His finger pressed up against Derek's. 

"You're a terrible listener." Derek pressed down, anchoring them, saying without words that it's okay to talk about it. "But me neither." 

"That's good. Nobody else hates you, either. Just, you know, FYI."

"Thanks." They looked at their hands. Derek rubbed his thumb on the outside of Stiles' thumb, and Stiles let him. “Do they know?” 

Stiles snorted. “You’re the first to notice. Well, except myself.” 

Derek asked when he had noticed himself, and the silence that followed was enough to ensure it was too long to comfortably say it aloud. 

"Are you going to tie me to a chair a force feed me now?" 

Derek thought about just tying him to a chair and wondered if Stiles was into that kind of thing. He shook his head, to himself and to Stiles. "I'm not going to force you to so anything." 

Stiles pursed his lips. "But…?" 

Derek picked up his knife again and pointed it at Stiles to make him put up his own. "But I'm going to show you that there's plenty of time, and not enough monsters for constant alert. Look at this, for example." He threw his leg out so Stiles could lean over the counter to see his sock clad foot. "It's so quiet right now, I don't even bother wearing shoes." 

Stiles laughed. It took him another second, but then he picked up his knife too. "I guess, that's fine." The words were pressed and laced with fake nonchalance, yet there were a serious undertone to it. Stiles was willing to try to see reason, and maybe that would help him. If it wouldn't, there were other things they could try and other people they could talk to. "Thank you," Stiles said, waving his knife. "For not doing— Or, you know, telling me— Just… thanks. You're sort of the best" 

Derek's smile was genuine this time. "Don't poke my eye out with that thing and we're even." 

Stiles grinned lopsidedly and focused back on his carrots. Everything was going to be fine, eventually. Derek could feel it. 


End file.
